Justin looked up and I knew. I knew I was making a deal with the devil, but he was my best friend. My oldest friend. He needed my help, and I knew that before this was all over, I was going to cave to whatever it was he wanted.
I was the world’s biggest sucker.
*
My mom and I moved to Allendale in the 6th grade. She thought a fresh start before middle school would be a good idea. Of course, it was a terrible idea and the next three years were the worst of my life. Why? Because middle school sucked. Hard.
During that time, things got rough. My anxiety, which had always been a problem, grew and grew and grew until some days it felt like there was nothing else in my life. Then things got dark. Scars on my legs and arms dark. I still only wear long-sleeved shirts.
The weekend passed and my conversation with Justin still weighed heavily on my mind. He wanted to have sex with me. Well, fake sex at least. He wanted Paul and Davis and the other guys to think he’d done it so they would leave him alone. I got it—I did—but I wasn’t sure if I was the right girl for the job.
Justin was convinced this would work. We had always been very close, and for us to suddenly have a relationship wouldn’t be questioned too much. It’s not like I had a boyfriend that would care or that even the kids at my own school would find out. He just wanted to put on enough of a show to be convincing.
I was most skeptical about that.
First of all, I had little experience. Okay, I had no experience. I wasn’t exactly a prude or naïve. Other than a few make-out sessions with Justin’s friends (I had regrets) the reality was…I just hadn’t gone there yet with anyone, and I wasn’t sure how good I was going to be at convincing a bunch of sexually experienced, douchebag townies that I made Justin a man.
Second of all, because of the anxiety, I liked to keep a low profile. Tricking an entire school of people didn’t seem low-profile. It seemed like the opposite of low-profile. High attention. People in my business. I didn’t like people in my business.
I mulled all this over as I walked into Chemistry, slipping through the desks and dropping my books on the slick, black top of my lab table. Mostly I was thinking about how I, Heaven Reeves, could ever convince anyone I wasn’t a virgin. Not that I had official data, but I was pretty sure non-virgins walked different. They moved differently.
Right?
I observed the girls entering the classroom. Mallory Keats walked through the door and I immediately honed in. She’s my polar opposite.
Her: blonde, blue-eyed, tiny hips and feet.
Me: reddish-brown hair, greenish eyes, curvy hips and monster feet.
She told everyone in 9th grade that she slept with her cousin’s best friend on their annual summer vacation. Her non-virgin status was basically school legend. Covertly, I studied her movements. Her demeanor, her stature. Her hips shifted a little with every step. Her chest was pushed out and her lips pouted just a touch.
Damn it—there was no way I could pull that off.
I sighed and rested my forehead on my desk, closing my eyes. Best friend or not, this seemed like a really bad idea.
The chair next to me scraped across the floor and I heard a thump
next to my head. My lab partner had arrived. Great. Figuring out what to do about a possible fake lover while sitting next to my desired nevergonnahappen lover made my life more like a joke than ever.
I had a huge, real, unrequited crush on Anderson Thompson.
“Reeves,” he greeted, easing into his seat.
I opened an eye, the one not pressed against the cool, hard table. Anderson was adorable in that totally-out-of-my-league-way. He had floppy dark brown hair and bright green eyes. His eyelashes and cheekbones could rival any CW actor, and once, I saw his competitive swimmer body shirtless at the pool and almost died.
Literally almost died.
“Thompson,” I replied, playing it cool.
He tipped the chair back, balancing his knees on the table. “Something wrong?”
I sat up and stretched, pulling out my books and a pen, ignoring the stupid smirk on his face. Anderson and I were school friends. Lab partner friends. That’s all friends. Not that I was complaining. It’s just that he knew nothing about my life or my issues. I certainly had no plan to tell him now. “Nope, I’m good. What did you do this weekend?”
He shrugged. “Hung out with the guys. Graced the town with my awesomeness. You know, same old. You?”
“The guys” were Hayden Pierce, Jackson Hall, and Oliver Baldwin. The three hottest guys in school, other than Anderson. Best friends, almost brothers, and ridiculously intimidating. They were nicknamed the Allendale Four. Loyal. Impenetrable. And incredibly exclusive.
They weren’t exactly popular—more like legendary.